


Dye the Night Sky Red

by Ki_no_Shirayuki



Series: 摺箔 — Surihaku [22]
Category: Gintama
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blow Jobs, Body Calligraphy, Coming Untouched, Cultural References, Dirty Talk, Embedded Images, Erotic Poetry, Frottage, Japanese, Japanese Culture, Kissing, Licking, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Makeup, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Please Don't Hate Me, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poetry, Shower Sex, The Author Has Been Studying Too Much Japanese, The Author Regrets Everything, Valentine's Day, WTF, Writing on Skin, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:19:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_no_Shirayuki/pseuds/Ki_no_Shirayuki
Summary: In which Takasugi sucked at kanji, Katsura criticized his handwriting and they both came up with creative ways to use traditional lip rouge beside applying it on the lips.Originally written for Valentine's Day 2017.





	1. Beni

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The red he anticipated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4348028) by [KaiSkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiSkitty/pseuds/KaiSkitty). 



> Title: from Miku/Luka song "Akahitoha"
> 
> May I start off with a little information that I have learned from many a Japanese teacher: most Japanese adults can write _very few_ kanji by hand because technology and _kana_. Dunno, correct me if I'm wrong. With that, let's get on with the story

_Komachi-beni_.

Named after Ono no Komachi, one of the Six Poetry Immortals who was regarded as the very embodiment of beauty, it was quite a curious substance indeed. It came as a surprise for both men when they first learned that the traditional lip rouge when not yet having come in contact with water was originally _green_. Lining the inside of small dainty porcelain bowls, the finest _komachi-beni_ would have that iridescent, metal-like shade of green until a touch of a wet brush turned it into an alluring red. It was unlike the oil-based lip glosses that the Amanto brought over, which came in all sorts of pretty colors and lovely scents, were as shiny and luscious as they could get and much cheaper too, but _komachi-beni_ held a special kind of appeal that those greasy, sickening-scented, mass-produced lip glosses couldn't match. It felt like nothing more than water on the lips, cool and refreshing to the touch, and it could give quite an _impressive_ range of colors, from sakura pink to rose red, all depending on how much water was used and how many times it was applied. Quite an interesting substance indeed.

Katsura was pretty sure his lips couldn't get any redder, judging by what he saw in the mirror Takasugi was holding up for him; still, he urged, "This is not quite it. Darker." Katsura's lips were the very definition of _beni_ now, and he didn't think he could make it deeper than that. He was told not to stop applying until he got "the color of blood from a fresh wound" (whatever that meant). It took him about ten more strokes until Takasugi was satisfied with the result; he was taken by surprise, pulled into a sloppy and ravishing kiss while the tip of his brush had just barely left his lips. The rouge wasn't given time to dry, and so it smeared and leaked into and between their mouths as their tongues continued their lustful dance. The kiss inevitably broke, and Katsura's eyes cracked open to see his friend's lips having already caught some of the _beni_ that he then continued to lick away, a devilish look in his eye; so seductive, so _dangerous_. He had a plan in mind and Katsura's brush in hand — he quietly took it from him when they were both lost in their heated kiss — and so he had his friend on his back while he straddled his waist. He loosened Katsura's kimono — why did he have to wear so many layers? — and opened it just enough so that an expanse of skin was laid bare before his eye. The brush was still damp, so Takasugi decided not to moisten it any more for fear of diluting the color, and dipped it into the _o-choko_ bowl of partially-used rouge.

Then Katsura felt something cool against his chest.

"W… What are you doing?"

Came no answer, and Takasugi was focused on his task of writing on Katsura's chest. Either he knew he wasn't as well-versed in calligraphy as Katsura was, and so he paid extra attention on keeping his strokes neat or he intentionally drew his work out as long as he could, but either way he couldn't help but finish his masterpiece: the word for "crimson", _beni-iro_ 紅色, deep red rouge against creamy skin. This was far from what Takasugi would call "satisfactory", as the two kanji had too few strokes, and he was still enjoying it too much to want to end this way. Then another flash of idea came into his mind.

This time, he would add _no ai_ の愛, "love."

It turned out not quite like what Takasugi expected; the kanji was tricky to write (for him) with so many strokes, and he ended up having to wipe it away and rewrite it a few times. In the end, when he finally decided the result was fine enough, he still had that feeling that he _might_ have forgotten a stroke somewhere. Takasugi couldn't remember the last time he wrote the character; he hadn't known of love for far too long. Still, the phrase was a lovely one: _beni-iro no ai_ 紅色の愛, "crimson love." What better words to write in _komachi-beni_ upon your lover's chest? Katsura had somehow gotten hold of the mirror Takasugi was holding for him when he was decorating himself moments before and was using it to examine his friend's handiwork. "You forgot a 'dot' stroke in the middle of the 'love' 愛 character. It's supposed to be a 'heart', _kokoro_ 心 there, and you can't have love without the heart! Aside from that, your penmanship is _atrocious_. I wonder what Shouyou-sensei would have to say about this…"

He was cut off by a fierce kiss, a breathy remark of, "You can read that mirrored?" moaned between vigorous sucks. Takasugi trailed from his mouth to his jaw, then his neck and finally his chest where the characters were. He started licking the writing off, stroke by stroke. Mmm… That was when everything began to get hot, Katsura noticed his arousal growing the lower Takasugi's mouth descended. Oh, he was not going to last very long if that wicked tongue kept going down… down… _down…_ at the torturous pace it was going, which was even slower than that at which he wrote. Then Takasugi reached the last character, at which point he briefly stopped and looked up at Katsura's eyes as if waiting for approval; in return, Katsura gave him a desperate expression, a silent plea of _keep going and stop driving me mad_. Takasugi complied, but this time he paid even more attention to each stroke he licked away, as if to memorize it should he needed to write it on his friend's skin next time. A diagonal stroke… then three dots… then the "crown" radical… When he got to the "heart" radical, he made sure to lick a nonexistent dot at the middle before moving on to other strokes.

By the time Katsura's torso was spotless again, Takasugi said, "How was that? I remembered the missing dot this time."

"Not good enough. You remember what Shouyou-sensei made us do when we got a kanji wrong? He made us write each character _500_ times, and I think it's high time you should do that now."

At that, Takasugi got off of Katsura's body before helping him to his knees. Then robes began to slide off, and they were soon naked, face-to-face. "That's an excellent idea. I'll write 'love' five-hundred times — or maybe even _more_ — _all over your body_. Your face, your arms, your back, your legs, your…" he hadn't had a chance to finish when Katsura could hold himself in no longer, letting out the most luscious _ohh_ Takasugi had ever heard as he released all over both their stomachs the moment Takasugi's hot breath ghosted over the crook of his neck. He continued, "To think of it, maybe just one character is not quite enough. I think I'll write something longer… a _yoji-jukugo_ , perhaps? Or a _poem_ even… Do you want a _haiku_? Or a _tanka_? Or perhaps even a _chōka_?" he smirked as he saw Katsura breathless and moaning from his previous climax, "Don't worry, we'll keep playing until there's nothing left in this _o-choko_."

They continued for the remainder of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image credit: Wikimedia Commons.
> 
> I don't understand why haiku is not considered waka. Japanese poetry experts out there explain to me plzzz.
> 
> Also, I'll take this down immediately if it comes off as culturally appropriative or offensive in any way.


	2. Kurenai

_人に_ _逢はむ_ _月のなきには　思ひおきて_  
_胸はしり火に　心やけ_ _をり_

 _Hito ni awan　tsuki no naki ni wa　omoi okite_  
_Mune-hashiri hi ni　kokoro yake ori_

 _ You do not come  _  
_ On this moonless night. _  
_ I wake wanting you. _  
_ My breasts heave and blaze. _  
_ My heart burns up. _

Hours had passed, and the night breeze coming through the window did nothing to relieve the steaming heat Katsura was trapped in. He was hot and horny and _irritated_ — none of the kanji Takasugi had written all over his body was written correctly, and over half of them was not that complicated to begin with. From 恋 ( _koi_ , romantic love) on his cheek, to 熱 ( _netsu_ , heat, passion) on his upper arm, to 狂喜 ( _kyōki_ , ecstasy) on the left side of his chest and 欲望 ( _yokubō_ , lust) on his hip, Takasugi either omitted a stroke, added one, or flat-out got the character wrong. Whether he was doing that on purpose to rile Katsura up so that he could silence his criticisms with a wet and heated kiss, he wasn't sure, but he was clearly enjoying every second, letting the mirror in his hand slip from limp fingers. Their tongues slid and their moans mixed; the fragile threads keeping Katsura from falling helplessly into climax snap, snap, snap one lewd noise at a time like the string of saliva connecting their mouths when they separated.

They still had half the cup of _komachi-beni_ to spare, and before long, Takasugi had decided to write a poem on Katsura's stomach, the only blank expanse of skin left on his body. First sentence in, and Katsura, once again holding the mirror above himself, could already tell it was a love poem by Ono no Komachi. He remembered; it was from that one poetry collection that Shouyou forbade them to read when they were young, and this had to be the most passionate, the most erotic one of all. It was amazing how Takasugi could remember the first sentence " _hito ni awan_ "… but that was all there was to it. He didn't remember the rest, at which Katsura commented, "For gods' sakes, it isn't even that long! You can't even remember a tiny little _tanka_ , and look who's just asked to write a _chōka_ just now! If anything… mmmph!"

"Shut the fuck up!" a lick, "I've had enough of your nagging." a groan into his mouth, "I wonder where you get the energy for that." slight scraping of teeth on his lips, "I want to hear your voice, but not like this." that said, Takasugi moved down, his face hovering over his friend's crotch while his hand gently massaged his inner thighs on each of which was a _yoji-jukugo,_ one 朝雲暮雨 ( _cho'u'unbō,_ sexual relationship) and the other 相思相愛 ( _sōshisōai,_ mutual love/attraction). Katsura could feel warm breath over his erection, and his entire body shivered.

"You'd better be grateful I didn't make you copy the poem 500 times like… ah!" moist heat entrapped him and whatever coherence he had left immediately vanished. It was meant to be a _stop bringing our teacher up,_  but Katsura was too caught in his ecstasy to form any more meaningful words. Oh how Takasugi drove him insane with his mouth; it didn't take long for the rhythmic and sensual rolling of his hips to become uncontrolled and frantic writhing of his entire body, knocking the bowl of water used to moisten the _beni_ over and spilling all the water out onto the floor in the process. Sweat mixed with the _beni_ , smearing all the characters, the proverbs and the unfinished poem into blotches and swirls of crimson on his skin, the color as deep as blood, as desire burning within the both of them.

Caught in his throes of pleasure, Katsura realized he didn't have much time left, his cock straining and dripping unrestrained. Takasugi brought him _that_ threateningly close to orgasm and pulled away, leaving his friend thrashing and whining from lack of contact for a while before taking him into his mouth again, adding a delicious throaty hum, and it was too late. Katsura let out a helpless cry as he came for the second time that night, releasing his seed in violent spurts into his friend's greedy mouth.

It took a while for Katsura to recover, and the first thing he noticed when he did was that there was **still** _beni_ left, but the water was gone, being spilled out moments before. Then, he had an idea.

Before Takasugi knew it, he was the one pinned to the floor, his friend's hair touching his face and hanging around both of them like a dark curtain. "I am truly appalled by your inability to write correctly and to remember a short poem." Katsura said, moistening the brush with his own saliva, "Now, lie still and be quiet. I'll show you what true penmanship is like."

And then there Katsura was, working the makeup brush with the skills and finesse of a master calligrapher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem by Ono no Komachi.  
> Translation by Kenneth Rexroth.
> 
> Right, you can kill me now.


	3. Usubeni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I present to you… THE AFTERMATH! (dun dun dun)

Oh the sheer irony of it all, how the cold shower not only didn't cool Katsura down, but also made him even _hotter_. His body was already exhausted from two climaxes, and he also forgot the real reason they were in the shower — to rinse the _beni_ and cum off of their bodies — but he couldn't care less. He lost himself in the irresistibly delicious kiss they were sharing, the way their cocks were rubbing against one another before, inevitably, ecstasy overwhelmed them and they released one last time all over each other's stomachs, effectively rendering all their effort cleaning themselves moot.

Katsura groaned; his legs were mushy and he felt that he could take it no more if Takasugi so much as touched his oversensitized skin. He said to his friend, who was burying his face into the crook of his neck, "Don't think making me come will make me let you off the hook for your terrible writing skills." he sighed, "But I'm glad at least you got "love" right."


End file.
